The Sheikah War
by Centrau guardian
Summary: Legends always started with the blue-eyed boy that went on to save the world. This one starts with a red-eyed boy slaved to the throne as an unwilling guardian. It was only time that prevented the looming uprising. But even time can't stop fate forever.
1. Chapter 1

Legends usually start with a blue-eyed boy in a backwards town in the middle of nowhere, completely unaware of the future he would have. The usually encompass epic timelines, battles and wars and sacrifice and heroism. There's always a beautiful blonde girl, typically born into royalty, but so kind and innocent that she opens the hearts of all around her. She's obviously the main driver of the story, a reason for the hero to fight, his purpose in everything he does. He slays the dragon for her, maims the traitors in her name, murders the villain of the piece before returning to her hard-won kiss.

Sahib plucked the strings of his lute with little grace as he stared blankly at the darkening horizon. So many songs were written for these heroes. So many songs that he'd learnt to play flawlessly, tenderly holding each note as if the stories they told meant everything to him. He'd lived the first sixteen years of his life immersed in their histories; hearing the tales of young men who sacrificed themselves for the young princess every single time.

It seemed strange to him. This hero that was born again and again to save the world. Didn't he ever get tired? Didn't he ever just wish that he could live a normal life instead of tearing off to rescue the damsel in distress yet again?

There was never any change. The story was the same. Places changed, names altered slightly, but the basic act remained, as if cast in stone that even time itself couldn't weather. He carelessly tapped out a small melody on the lute, sighing with frustration.

It was a little bit boring that the hero was always so utterly and completely perfect.

Growling, he flung himself up and away from the ground, grabbing his lute angrily as he strode decisively towards the clustering of tents nearby. Sand flew into the air with every step he took, the setting sun rippling red and gold across the sand dunes that stretched into the distance in every direction. The dry heat of the day was already being replaced by the sting of the cold night. He grudgingly pulled his rough cloak more tightly around himself, tugging on the scarf covering the bottom half of his face to shield his chilled ears. Sounds of merriment began to reach him, the celebration still continuing, even if he refused to have any part in it.

Who really wanted to celebrate the fact that they were about to be forced into servitude?

"Sahib!"

Sighing, he quickened his pace, the shape of a frantically waving girl outlined by the roaring fire he could now see between the tents. She bounced excitedly, long red hair sweeping across her back as she danced towards him.

"Come on already! They're preparing the tea!" She latched on to his arm, tugging him towards the tents as he groaned.

"I'm coming already Safiya. Thrice, did they let you drink or something? You're even more obnoxious than ever," he grumbled, rolling his eyes at her as she dragged him along.

He couldn't help squeaking when she poked him in the ribs. "Meanie. I'm just looking out for you. Din knows you don't want to do this. But I'd rather have your head resting on your pretty little shoulders instead of rolling on the floor somewhere you know," with a glare she poked him again, sticking her tongue out as he slapped her hand away.

"Little shoulders?" He raised an eyebrow, reaching up to cautiously pat the cloth wrappings that hid his hair in case they shifted.

"Yeah, little girly shoulders! Goes with your child-bearing hips!"

He glared at her, wrenching his arm away. "Thank you so much for that shining appraisal of my figure Saffy, I'll have you know my shoulders and manly and my hips are… Well… Shapely… But that's all!" He growled and folded him arms in a huff as she giggled unabashedly.

"Well I finally get to find out tonight! I'm so looking forward to catching a glimpse of your naked rear end at the ceremony!"

He whirled on her, only to find her sprinting away already, laughter trailing behind her as she sprang forwards into the circle of people turning towards them.

The camp was full of people, some wrapped in cowls and hiding their features in any manner they could as he was, the other wearing loose white clothing with red hair falling across their shoulders. All the people that weren't cloaking themselves were women, large almond eyes and delicately browned skin contrasting sharply with the figures swathed in fabric and shadowing their faces carefully. Sahib slowed, then stopped as they all went silent, watching him with an air of reverence.

"Step forwards son, it is time to begin." The crowd parted obligingly as a crooked shape hobbled forward, bells chiming as the concealing cloths the figure wore swung with the slow steps forwards.

"Mother," he whispered, falling to his knees in a bow as she made her way awkwardly across the sand. "Mother, I have come to begin the parting of the ways. To begin my rebirth."

She stopped a few paces before him, hands slipping free of her cloaks to spread in the air. "My son, Sahib. Today is a day of much celebration. For today, you shall be born from the shadows of this prior existence and make yourself ready to stand in the light of those we have sworn to protect." With a surprisingly agile swirl, she turned away from him, pacing cautiously back towards the fire.

Gritting his teeth against the furious tears that threatened, he slowly stood, straightening his back with restrained defiance.

Legends usually start with the blue-eyed boy that goes on to save the world with utter purity in his heart. This one starts with an unwilling guardian, stepping forwards into slavery.


	2. Chapter 2

The silence of the people before him was almost a tangible thing. The deep pounding of Sahib's heart and the soft shifting of sand beneath his feet almost felt like an affront to the tense atmosphere. He clutched at his cloak tightly, knuckles aching under the strain of his grip. Something curdled in his stomach and for a worrying moment he thought he was going to be sick before the whole ordeal had even started. Desperately he searched out Saffiya's face in the crowd, anxious for something reassuring to help ease his fear. The masses of red haired people woven into the cloaked figures hid her from him and he gulped frantically.

His nerves only grew worse when he reached the group of watchers. As he took his first step into their midst, they began to step away from him, closing their eyes and kneeling to prostrate themselves around him. The worshipful stance swept over them like a wave and nervous laughter threatened to bubble up in his throat. He swallowed, throat as dry as the desert around him and continued steadily towards the waiting figure haloed by the fire behind her. He couldn't see his mother's face, but the slow motion of her head in a nod helped to settle the bile raising in his stomach. With a deep breath, he shook his shoulders back and paced carefully towards her.

She raised her arm towards him when he was close enough, touching her palm to his chest. This close, he could see the smile on her face, wizened and battered by years of living in the harsh environment of the desert.

"Welcome, my son, to the moment of rebirth."

As soon as she spoke people began to move. Four men in cloaks stood and walked over to the mother and son, stopping behind Sahib in a line. Everyone else moved away, forming a ring around the fire, lines of precisely spaced circles that reached all the way back to nearly touch the tents. Red haired and white clothed women interspersed themselves amongst the cloaked people, hands reaching out to take those of the person next to them. Sahib knew this was going to happen; he had been told what would happen before tonight, but it still impressed him how casually and easily it was all done.

This might be the last night of his freedom, but at least it would be a beautiful night, he thought, placing a hand gently over his mother's briefly, before letting it drop to his side.

"Sahib," his mother intoned, power curling behind her words. "Tonight we will take from you everything you were. You will ascend from shadows, be relieved of your material bonds."

As she spoke, the men behind Sahib came forwards. They reached for his clothes, beginning to unwind the black scarf that covered his face from view, lifting the cloak from his shoulders and dropping each piece of clothing to the floor as they removed it. Sahib stood silently, eyes closing as he steadied the anger and revulsion raging inside him. The uncaring strokes of their fingers as they pulled everything that kept him in the shadows, everything that he ever known from him felt like violations. The most difficult moment came when they began to unwrap the bandages binding the most intimate parts of his body, and as they fell from him he struggled to keep himself from bludgeoning each and every one of his tormentors.

But resist he did, and finally he stood, naked and bared to the world. The shadows of his cloak and protection curled teasingly next to him, taunting as he longed to be hidden again.

His mother's hand had remained on his chest the whole time, the men carefully working around her as they tore away his past. He looked at her now, the fury and disgust clear in his eyes as he stared at her.

She simply tightened her jaw and lifted her head higher. He had been warned, her expression said. This was necessary. He would bear it or bring shame upon his entire clan.

He nodded slightly at her, feeling calm sweep through him as he held on to that thought. This wasn't just about him. This was about everyone.

He would not bring shame to his family.

With a nod of her head and the withdrawal of her hand from his chest his mother motioned for the next part to begin. The men behind him stepped back into the ring, taking the places of four of the red-haired women as they moved forwards, unclasping small pouches from their belts.

"With this," his mother began, the four women removing small pots from the pouches and dipping a finger into them, then stepping closer to him. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was next. "With this, we inscribe you with the icon of our people and with the icon of the holy rulers whose every person you will protect with every fibre of your being." As she spoke, the women began to draw sigils and symbols onto his skin. One woman, heavy-eyed and full-lipped, placed a finger in the very centre of his chest and began to draw an image that was as familiar to him as breathing. The Sheikah eye began to bloom on his chest, drawn onto his skin with a red ink that would stain him for the rest of his life. Two women focused on his arms, swirls and triangles and beautiful flowing images of symbols he'd never seen before traced onto him under their fingertips, but he wasn't too concerned with those.

What held his attention, was the ticklish feeling of the symbol being drawn onto his back. He couldn't see it, but he could feel the lines of Hylian royal crest spreading over his spine and shoulder blades. It was the only one drawn in a different colour; blue, contrasting gracefully with the red covering the rest of his body. He couldn't decide whether he was repulsed or proud to have the symbol on his body. On one hand, it was the image of those who would enslave him for the rest of his life, but on the other, it was the symbol that had adorned the backs of many warriors before him, men and women who had stood here, in this same place, naked but defiant in front of their people as they were prepared for the same duty as he was now. He chose to focus on that, drawing strength from the feeling of pride and reverence that swept through him.

The women finished their part and stepped away from him, falling to their knees behind him as they bowed their heads to Sahib. The patterns on his body gave him a mystical air, the many eyes on his body filled with wonder and delight as a steady power began to whisper around them. The inks on his body seemed to glow, something unearthly curling warmly around him. He breathed calmly, feeling the magic stroking away from the tattoos and embedding them into his flesh so that he would always be marked. Murmurs of words and songs began to fill his mind, the Three Goddesses awakening to the call of his power, the shadow magic within his reaching out for them to witness this moment and know him as the guardian of those they held most precious.

It almost didn't seem like there was enough of left to feel anger at that thought. He was being swept away, his mind merging with the knowledge they wanted him to know, notes and tones of music singing inside him as he felt himself move away from the world. Three glorious presences shone around him, fingers reaching out to stroke his face and hair, kisses pressed against his face as they thanked him gently. They realised his resentment, were sorry for it, but firm in their decision that it must be him. They sealed the inks even further into him, the patterns stretching into his very soul, the shadows within him curling around them almost lovingly.

With a breath and a final kiss from each of the Three, he felt himself return to the world.

Where there had been night, the sun now pierced into his skull. With a croak he swallowed, the parchedness in his throat telling him he had been stood out in the sun for some time. There was no one around him now, the tents that had surrounded him having been struck at some point in the time he couldn't quite remember, and every trace of the people who had stood with him removed.

A deep sadness welled up inside him. With a cry he fell to his knees, tattooed arms clasping around him as he began to cry.

He was reborn. And completely and utterly alone.

Author's Note: This story is set within the Zelda timeline, but it doesn't follow any of the games. I forgot to mention that in the last chapter! Essentially, this will be the story of what I imagine happened between the sheikah and the Royal family of Hyrule. It will contain fighting, death and some very adult themes. It also focuses on the idea of reincarnation present in the Zelda games. Sheik is a seperate entity from Zelda in this, although that doesn't necessarily have to be true for the plot of Ocarina of Time to still work with this story. Many characters from the games will be in this story, even though it's set outside of any of the games. Hopefully none of this upsets anyone too much, but I wasn't initially figuring on this story gaining much interest so it's being entirely written to fulfill my own ideas. Hope you've enjoyed the story so far and will continue to do so in the future!


	3. Chapter 3

The Sheikah War Chapter Three

It took him a few minutes to remember everything when he woke up. The strange visions he'd had must have exhausted him; the last he remembered was curling up on his side, desolation ringing hollowly inside of him as sand stuck to the salty tracks left by his tears. Now the cold wind whispered against his skin, which stung painfully as he realised he must have been out in the sun, naked and unprotected, for many hours before the night had fallen. He croaked with pain, the dry grittiness of his throat strangling the sound and informing him that he needed to find some water, desperately.

He began to push himself up, moaning with the agony that flared up over his skin. His muscles were sluggish and reluctant to move; a piercing shriek ringing in his head at every slight movement.

Numbly he cursed himself. Even upset and exhausted he should have known better than to fall asleep in the sun. He must have been stood out in it for a while before that too, when the visions had consumed his every thought and swept time away from him. A deep anger settled in the pit of his stomach; he knew, logically, that the ritual called for his people to leave him nothing of the life he had experienced beforehand, but would it have troubled the Goddesses to have left him with some kind of protection? Or at least not so utterly out of energy so that he could have tried to find some shelter? His fatigued brain reminded him that they had been camped out here for some time before the ritual and he hadn't seen any sign of shelter during all that time, but he pushed the thought away will a hoarse growl. There must have been something he could have done if he'd only had the strength left to do it.

As it was now, he'd probably die out here in this Thrice-damned desert without ever making it to Hyrule.

Every part of him sang with agony as managed to finally raise himself to his feet. His eyelids were almost glued together with a crust of salt and sand. With a few slow blinks and a rough scrub of his hand he managed to force them open enough to take in his surroundings.

There wasn't a whole lot to see. The night was clouded; little light shone on the sands to give him any idea of the current layout around him. The build-up of sand at his back had told him that the desert had shifted while he was sleeping. It was entirely possible that he wouldn't recognise a single dune when he could see again.

Despair crept over him. He needed to find water now, if the constant buzzing and blurriness of his vision was anything to go by, but the last oasis had been several hours walk back towards his home, and in the dark without a moon to guide him it was verging on impossible for him to figure out which way to go. If only his people had left something behind, some sign of where to go…

He swallowed painfully. No. They would never have done that. And once he was past the feelings of betrayal and desperate survival urge he would have felt ashamed of them for doing it.

No. He had been reborn. He was no longer a Sheikah, safe within the constant veil of shadow and mystery. He had been reborn to stand as a Guardian, unafraid of the light piercing into every part of him and showing him for what he was.

It was about time he acted like the strong individual he was meant to be.

Squaring his shoulders, he forced himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the scratch of his throat, and, with defiance in his mind, he took a step forwards.

The giggle almost made him crash to the floor. He stumbled, but something swept a hand under his arm and hauled him straight back to his feet. Cold fingers curled around his bicep, tapering off to a sharp point that pressed into his flesh. He shuddered in shock and fear; the only thing he had been told about after the ritual is that he would serve the royal family as their guardian. When he had asked about how he would find his way, the elders had simply sat in silence and then switched the topic to different matters. He had quickly come to understand that they either didn't know or couldn't tell him. At first he had thought someone must come to guide him, but after discussing it with Saffiya one afternoon she had pointed out that it might be some kind of test. Could he make it through the desert on his own with nothing and no one to help him? They'd decided it must be something similar, after all it seemed a fitting way to make sure a guardian was everything they should be.

And if they weren't it was a quick way of disposing of them too.

Therefore he wasn't quite sure what to make of the fingers around his arm. There was something distinctly non-human about the way they curved and ended in cruel points. His mind was working sluggishly, slowly setting off alarm bells that only found stiff, unresponsive muscles to answer them. With a spurt of anger he managed to force his free arm to form a loose fist and with a grunt of effort he punched the thing that held him.

Only it wasn't there.

The hand instantly disappeared and his fist met empty air. The force of his motion sent him lurching sideways, his legs catching on each other and inevitably he fell to the sand with a thump that rattled his teeth. He groaned in pain and forced himself to roll over, eyes desperately searching for whatever laughed at him in the dark.

"Might this help?" A gravelly voice asked, before light suddenly blazed in the gloom, forcing him to clamp his eyes shut as pain flared in his head. He groaned and feebly waved a hand, trying to gesture for the light to be turned down. The voice giggled again and the pounding of light on his eyelids died down.

It still took some time before he could convince his eyes to open again, and even then it was only for a brief few seconds a time. Slowly, carefully, he eased his eyes into the idea that they now had light to see by and finally he managed to hold them open.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus and even then there was a blurriness caused by their painful watering. The first thing he saw was the flickering purple flame, encased within a weathered gold lantern with delicate engravings decorating the bottom. It tugged at something in his memory, but it was only when he squinted and forced his eyes to see beyond the glow of the fire that he realised who had come to meet him in the dark night.

Black eyes glimmered back at him, the reflection of the firelight dancing deep inside them. Wispy tendrils floated off into the air beneath it, slowly dissipating into nothing, leaving it floating above the ground. It's body was hazy now, a certain insubstantial air to it that told him if he tried to touch it now his fingers would simply slip straight through. Grey shades formed most of it's body, with royal purples ringing the dark eyes that laughed at him now.

A poe had rescued him.

He blinked at it in surprise, not quite sure what to make of his ghostly watcher. It didn't seem much inclined to help either, simply staring back at him while giggling softly. They stayed there for a few seconds, simply staring at one another, while Sahib struggled to accept that there really was a poe there, not swinging it's lantern at him or trying to claw at his face, but instead hanging docilely in front of him.

Perhaps it was too late for the water.

"H…" Sahib choked as his throat closed up on his voice.

"Perhaps introductions should wait?" The poe sniggered, body rocking back and forth through the air. "First it may be sensible to get a move on, don't you think?"

With that it cackled and began to move away, taking it's softly glowing light with it. Sahib croaked desperately as he struggled to get to his feet, tired limbs quivering with the effort as he stood and began to stumble after the hovering ghost. It danced away, the faint glimmer of the lantern and the sound of its amusement trailing behind it. Sahib tried to force his legs to run, but only managed to bring them to an awkward shuffle that threatened to fail him at any moment. It was sheer willpower that kept him moving at all and a quiet part of his mind mused that it should have gotten away from him within the first few steps. Somewhere inside he realised it must be slowing down and waiting for him, carefully keeping its lamplight or the sound of laughter within the reach of his senses. Still he didn't want to stop and find out whether or not it would continue to wait for him. He trudged onwards, feet barely lifting from the sand as he forced himself onwards.

It felt like the night should have passed and the next day long begun by the time he saw the lamplight stop in front of him. His legs protested that they must have walked for hours; his feet were torn from the rough sand and rocks he had been unable to avoid. The cold desert air had soothed the burns on his skin, but he could feel his teeth chattering and the clinging chill in his bones that warned him of impending illness. Never had he passed the night in the desert without warm furs and blankets to cover himself with, and often a blazing fire outside the tent one could go sit by if one started to feel a little too cool.

Beneath the aching, constant desperation for water, he felt a calm assessment in his mind informing him that it would take a bit more than refreshments to cure him after this night.

Up ahead the poe danced in place, looping in the air and hanging upside down, gazing at him with grinning eyes.

"A little worse for wear, but you made it! Congratulations young Guardian!" It clapped its hands together, the lantern jangling with every movement, flame fluttering brightly in protest.

Sahib blinked at it, dragging his feet the last few steps forwards until he faced the dangling spirit. He didn't quite know what to do, all he could see was encased within the small light from the lantern. There seemed to be nothing to mark this small patch of desert as any different from the rest of it. The darkness still pressed on from all sides, no sounds came to him besides the low giggles from the poe.

Icy realisation swept over him. He'd been taken for a fool. He should have known better than to trust a poe. Thrice-damn him for forgetting everything he had been taught about them. They were tricksters, cruel pranksters who would sooner lead you to some horrible misfortune than help you in any way. He'd read once that poes were the spirits of dead Sheikah; ones that had been used and belittled and made wretched in life. Once they had passed on to death they grew an appetite to punish unwitting humans in return and were creatures to be avoided at best; slain and contained at worst.

He fell to his knees, the knowledge that he'd been deceived in his last moments of life taking the remnants of his strength from him. Dimly he registered the poe darting away from him, leaving him in complete darkness as he slid to the ground, head thumping numbly on the sand.

It was an dishonourable and pathetic death he would have, he thought, eyes staring blankly at the still night ahead of him. To have come so far, given up so much and be tricked by a simple ghost at the end… Anger welled up in him, useless in his defeated body. Even worse, he could light on the horizon; dawn must not have been far off, if he'd simply ignored the poe, perhaps he would have had a chance…

The light came closer, bouncing avidly as dull thuds reached his ears. The poe, returning to laugh at him as he died. He forced a hoarse snarl past his throat, then blinked dazedly as the colour of the flame in the lantern suddenly struck him as odd.

The poe's had been purple. This was the yellowish white of human flames.

A muffled curse reached his ears, as something flung down the lamp beside him and bent to look at his eyes. He blinked up at the red eyes glaring at his own.

"It's not your right to die now boy," the face in front of him growled at him, hands dragging him to a sitting position and one holding him there as the other fumbled for something at the woman's belt. "You belong to the throne now boy, you don't get to die until they let you."

She held a small ampoule to his lips, a gentle trickle of liquid filling his mouth. "You'll swallow if you know what's good for you," she threatened, "no matter how foul it tastes."

Whatever it was, it certainly did taste foul. Even his starved tongue shied away from the flavour, but he found himself shakily forcing his throat to swallow, agony almost causing him to choke. But he managed and almost instantly warmth spread through his belly, easing the pain that suffused every part of him. He almost groaned with pleasure, greedily gulping down more of the liquid. She allowed him to continue for a few more gulps, each motion of his throat becoming easier and easier, before she pulled it away from his lips, ignoring his groaned protests and his attempts to lean after it. Instead she sat it carefully in the sand, then pulled a waterskin from her belt and held that to his lips for a few seconds while he drunk.

"Easy boy," she murmured after she took that away too as he whimpered. "It would do no good to make you vomit after giving you a potion." She moved to position herself under his arm, gripping tight to his opposite side as she looked at him. "We are going to move now, prepare yourself."

It took him a moment to sort through the words, her accent confusing him slightly as he finally began to focus on the meanings instead of just the sound. He nodded his head as he steadied himself and carefully moved his legs to a kneeling position.

"On three," she told him, shifting slightly so he was better held in her grasp." One. Two. Three!"

With a gasp of pain he lifted himself to his feet with her help. The potion could only do so much, he realised, as the pounding begun anew in his head and his muscles protested their continued usage.

But he had a chance now, he decided, determination letting him take the first step forwards with her, then continue moving across the sand to the building he slowly began to make out they moved towards it. A jangle of metal and burst of laughter made him look to the roof, where the grey poe danced in the air, pausing only to wave at him before it turned and flew into the darkness.

xxxxx

Chapter three! Hope you enjoyed! Thanks to the advice from DeadShut I've tried to make this one a little bit longer. It is an issue I have great trouble with (I tend to only write short chapters and find it quite difficult to go beyond a thousand words) but it's one I'm going to try and improve on with this story. Over two thousand words in this chapter and hopefully in the next one I'll have more, as well as more things going on. Especially as one of my favourite characters will be prominent in the next chapter! Thank you very much for your advice and I hope you enjoy the story!

Thank you to all my reviewers! Your advice and support really helps give me the confidence (and willpower! X3) to continue this story! I hope you continue to enjoy and share the journey with me! And special thanks to Trolly's Bara-Chan for reviewing both chapters so far! As for your question... Now that would be giving away the plot... *grins*


	4. Chapter 4

Sheikah War Chapter Four

When he first woke up Sahib felt like he'd slept for a week. His head pounded in time to the thump of his pulse and every joint in his body ached from maltreatment. He croaked and groaned, feebly writhing under the light sheet as the pain consumed him. A soft voice whispered at him and a gentle hand pulled him up slowly, before the lip of a bottle was held to his lips. Cool liquid filled his mouth and he swallowed awkwardly, the dryness of his throat barely even touched by the small mouthful of liquid. He only managed a few agonising gulps more before he coughed and sputtered, shifting away from the bottle in fear of drowning. The voice murmured at him some more, soothingly tender, before he was lowered to the ground and fell into the darkness again.

This time he dreamed.

The darkness pressed in on him on all sides, a cloying sickening presence smothering him in its clutches. It felt like drowning; drowning in something sticky and syrupy that flooded his throat and clogged his pores and flowed sluggishly around him and tried to melt into every crevice and press against his eyes and lungs and lips and ears. He panicked and flailed in the black, desperately trying to find something to hold on to and pull himself out of the suffocating nightmare. Something laughed at him, cruel and gravelly, scratching against his mind as he frantically tried to gasp enough air to scream.

When the air came, it tasted like green.

The forest swept through him, pulling him from the darkness into gentle light. Something held him, comfort and love soothing the aching gasps of his lungs and waiting patiently as his keening terror lessened under the caring touch. He slowly relaxed, sighing as the warmth bolstered him against the black he could feel nudging around the edges, looking for a way to reach him. It took a moment before he could uncurl from where he'd coiled in on himself, stretching around under the encouraging touch of sunlight and breezes and tender smiles. He sighed and snuggled against the heat, blinking his eyes open under the sun.

It was almost surprising to smell the dry desert instead of fresh foliage. Sahib groggily lifted his hand to his face, rubbing the crust of sleep from his eyes and stretching languorously in the sunlight.

He froze when the other person started chuckling.

Rustling told him they were moving, a dull clunk unnerving him as he tried to force his tired thoughts to figure out what sort of weapon could make that sound. His body responded slowly to his frantic urges to move into a defensive position, struggling against the sheets that tightened around his body as he fought to raise to his knees.

A hand pressed against his shoulder, frustrating in how easily it managed to press him to the floor. "Shhh," soothed a strong female voice, "You're not quite ready to sit up yet , boy. Give your body a few moments, it's been through a lot."

Confusion helped to slow his movement as he tried to make his eyes focus on the dark blur above him. The woman curled her legs under her body and knelt beside him, a bottle filled with some sort of red fluid held in her hands as she watched him. He blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and stared at her, comprehension beginning to bloom.

She stared back at him, red eyes hawk-like and proud, underlined with the red arrows that marked her place as leader of the Guardians. Silver hair lay in a braided length over her right shoulder, falling over leather armour embroidered with red and silver curling patterns accentuating the toned curves of her chest and stomach. He looked back to the defined lines of her face, startling at the amused smirk and raised eyebrow as she watched him assess her.

"Well," she said, self-confidence permeating her voice, "You seem slightly more awake this time at least."

Sahib blinked at her, horror flooding through him as he realised just who he faced. She had left the tribe before he was even born, but the stories of her strength and dedication to becoming a guardian had been told to him for years in an attempt to excite him about the fate that had been chosen for him. Of all the things that would come with being a defender of the royal family, the opportunity to meet her had intrigued him the most. The tales of her skills as a warrior and the love of the tribe for her had thrilled him as a child, creating a deep-set admiration and near-worship that had lingered with him for the entirety of his training and that now displayed itself in a blush that spread across his nose and cheeks, reaching back to redden his ears. He squeaked, blushing harder as he heard the rather less-than-manly noise coming from his mouth.

Well, his plans on impressing her when they met were not exactly off to the best start.

"I… Impa," he managed to force out, dissolving into painful coughs as his throat rebuked him for making it work against its will.

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and waited patiently until the coughing fit passed. Then she shifted and moved closer, holding the bottle out towards him.

"This is red potion," she told him. "I've been giving you small amounts whenever you managed to wake up for a few moments, but I think you can start taking it yourself now. Hopefully it shouldn't take too much longer for you to get the strength back for us to move on, but considering I didn't think you were going to make it a couple of days ago I'm rather pleased with the progress you've made already."

He looked at the shockingly bright medicine as he tried to process the information she'd given him. A couple of days? Had he really been asleep that long? The aches and fatigue in his body had made him think he'd only been asleep for a short time, that he'd need more sleep before he'd feel better. Which, strictly, was true, but he hadn't realised he was quite as affected by the trip through the desert as it seemed he must have been. It surprised him to realise just how badly it had affected him, after a lifetime of living in the desert and having struggled with the thirst and fatiguing capabilities of the environment during the long years of training. Admittedly he'd been exposed to the pounding sun for some time before he'd finally been found by the poe…

And wasn't that an experience he'd never expected to have. As far as he'd been aware, poes were unfriendly creatures, embittered by their lives until they'd become cruel and vicious to the Sheikah who still lived. He could feel the questions building up, and he must have shifted or made some sign of what was going through his mind, for Impa suddenly laid her hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

"Drink first, and see if you can eat something, then we'll talk," and with that she set the bottle beside him and turned around to a set of bags behind her, searching inside it for something.

He realised what she was granting him in that moment. It would be a struggle to sit up and he knew he would have been embarrassed to have her watch as he fought with his own body. Gratefulness warmed his limbs and he gathered his strength.

It took a few awkward and painful moments but he managed to bring himself into a slumped sitting position, hunched tiredly in on himself as he reached for the bottle. Thee first swig sent cool relief through his bones, easing the aches and loosening the tense knots along his spine as he groaned in relief. The second took the thump of his headache away and the third released him from the tight grasp of fatigue. It didn't surprise him when his stomach suddenly rumbled, hunger growling inside him now that the blanket of pain and tiredness had been lifted. He blushed slightly as the snarl of his stomach rung in the small room, and Impa glanced back at him, lips curved in an amused grin.

"Well, it is rather fortunate I was just about to prepare something to eat it seems," she laughed at the deepening of the embarrassed flush on his cheeks and stood to walk over to the small campfire ringed with bricks in the middle of the room, carrying a pot and another bottle of what looked like broth with her.

They spent the minutes of her cooking in silence, Sahib taking a slow swallow from the bottle of red potion before setting it down beside him as he looked around at the stone walls around him. The room was small, with a set of steps in the corner leading up to a securely shut trap door in the low roof. A single square hole let sunlight in and allowed the smoke from the fire directly beneath it out of the room, the thick slabs of grey rock lining it indicating that the building was solidly built. He suspected it was dug into the ground, allowing it protection from the harsh heat of the desert in the way many of the Sheikah safe houses were built. The tapestries and rugs on the floor confirmed the Sheikah heritage of the building, the patterns and colours holding the distinctive features that had surrounded him as he grew up within the constantly moving tribe. A set of bags and folded blankets rested in the corner across from him, leading him to the conclusion that Impa had been sleeping at the opposite side of the room as she watched over him. A glint of gold amidst the bags caught his eye, and he frowned as he tried to puzzle out the slope of engraved wood he could just make out.

"It's a harp." He started at the sound of Impa's voice, finding her sat cross-legged next to him, two bowls of steaming broth in her hands. She placed them down and stretched over to snag the instrument from her things. Holding it out to him, she continued, "It will be your harp, and when you are well enough I will teach you a song that you will remember for the rest of your life." With that she held it out to him, a strange smile on her face as she watched him closely. "Take it."

He reached tentatively across, stopping briefly just before he touched it. As his fingers got closer to it he could feel the thrum of power it emitted, a welcoming warmth that curled towards him, almost curiously stroking against his skin. He held his breath as his fingertips brushed against it and the feeling of joy made him grasp it firmly and pull it from Impa's hold to press it to his chest. The magic seemed to purr in his heart as he held it tightly, eyes wide in wonder. He looked up at Impa, who sat watching him with a warm smile.

"It seems to like you," she told him, then pushed one of the bowls of broth in front of him. "Eat boy. The quicker you regain your strength the sooner the time I teach you the songs to release its true power." And with that she picked up her own bowl and began to spoon the food into her mouth.

Even with the promise of playing the instrument in the future, he found it hard to let go of the harp and set it carefully in his lap. His fingers lingered on the delicate silver strings for several moments, eyes taking in the expertly carved details of three women that formed the curves of the frame. Every line was beautifully traced into the wood, gold-leaf accentuating the flow of hair and clothes while gemstones glinted from their eyes; red, green and blue winking in the firelight and giving the harp a sense of life even as it rested silently on the sheets. He gazed at it lovingly, then forced himself to look away and pick up the bowl.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sahib struggling to hold the bowl for very long and having to rest between every couple of mouthfuls. It frustrated him to realise just how far away from full strength he really was, even with the effects of the red potion still warming his limbs. Impa finished long before he'd even finished half the broth, and carefully placed her bowl on the floor before looking up to watch him appraisingly.

"You're doing better than I thought you were," she murmured, looking away as she came to some conclusion, and placing her hands on her knees. "Perhaps we will make it back to the castle sooner than I had originally planned."

He watched her as she mused, then placed the unfinished bowl on the floor next to hers. "How long should it take us to get back to the castle?" he asked, pleased at the returning strength of his voice, even with the croaking edge to it as his throat dully ached.

She looked up at him with a secretive curve to her lips, "Rather sooner than you would think, I should imagine," and laughed at the vaguely confused expression on his face. "That is something I would see you experience, rather than attempt to describe to you. Now, I imagine you have questions about the events of the past few days. Please feel free to ask."

Immediately Sahib found himself swamped with questions, not quite sure what was the important thing to ask. So much stood out from the events after the beginning of the rebirth ritual and all of it felt vital and intriguing. Perhaps instead of worrying about was was necessary, he thought, he should ask the easiest questions first.

"Where are we?" he asked, glancing up at Impa.

"This place is an old Sheikah safe house between the Gerudo Valley and the Sacred Lands. It was originally an outpost for people travelling between the two to rest at along the way, particularly during the time when the Gerudos temple was being built on the Sacred Lands. Both Sheikah and Gerudo made the journey regularly, and this outpost was sometimes used as a meeting ground for the two, allowing the peoples to come together. Now it is the place where newly fledged guardians and the High Guardian meet for the first time," she spoke with the tone of a teacher, obviously interested by the knowledge she shared with him, and he found himself looking forward to being taught and further trained in his duty by her.

He blinked as he thought of something. "So was I supposed to be left here?" He didn't even notice the scratchiness of his throat anymore, the mixture of food and medicine working wonders on his abused body.

Impa shook her head. "No, the others were right in leaving you where they did. The nomadic tribes of Sheikah haven't travelled past the Sacred Lands in many generations, and as you know even the Sacred Lands are off limits except when the advice of the Three is sought. No, they left you exactly where you should be, impressive as that always seems to me, considering the utter lack of features in that place." She mused for a moment then continued. "The place they left you is the burial ground of many honoured Sheikah and the poe who brought you here is one of the old leaders that rest there."

"The poe," Sahib frowned, digesting the information she was giving him.

"Yes," she nodded, "I'm sure you're aware that most poes are frightful creatures that should be slain rather than trusted for a second." She watched as he bowed his head in agreement, his eyes curious. "Well that's not entirely true. Poes are the longest lasting spirits of the dead, and almost exclusively come from those of Sheikah blood. Some important figures choose to become poes in death rather than return to the shadows, particularly ones like you and me, guardians who decide to continue to help those that come after them. The poe who lead you here has been there as long as anyone can remember and has always guided those Sheikah who would become guardians to this outpost."

"So I was right in trusting him?"

"Yes, and if ever you must return to the Sacred Lands he will guide you back there. But I would advise you to be cautious around all other poes you will meet within Hyrule. I have not met a friendly one yet, although they are less than eager to attack me."

"Why's that?"

Impa frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

"That is something I am afraid I cannot tell you, though perhaps you will find yourself in the same position someday."

Sahib thought for a moment then nodded in acceptance. "Ah!" he flushed as the next question came to mind. "Um, is it possible you have some clothes for me?" he mumbled, looking down at the harp in his lap.

Impa chuckled and unfolded her legs so that she could stand up. "Indeed I do." She walked over to her bags and picked a patterned leather one up, bringing it back over to him and kneeling on the floor in front of him. "I imagine you cannot be too skittish about being naked infront of me after the rebirth ceremony. I will need to teach you how to wear the uniform properly, and that will take some time to learn. It is also your first step into your new life, and signifies your binding to the royal family. Do you feel ready to commit yourself completely or would you like a few days to come completely to terms with your new life?"

Sahib closed his eyes and examined the fatigue in his limbs. It amazed him to realise that the pain was gone; his muscles felt loose, and even with the weariness curled deeply within them he could feel his energy slowly returning and strength cautiously returning to his body. He blinked his eyes open and looked at Impa, wonder in his eyes. "I feel so much better already," he murmured.

"The potion," Impa answered his implied question. "Red potion is normally powerful, but this one is particularly potent thanks to the work of the castle potion-maker." She reached over and picked up the bottle with her free hand, moving it nearer to the pile of bags in the corner. "Fortunate for you. Your improvement is impressive." Then she opened the bag and began to withdraw folded materials from inside it. Sahib watched curiously as tough-looking blue clothes were removed one at a time, the Sheikah eye embroidered in several places, including a large one on the chest of what appeared to be a top. Several rolls of bandages were placed beside the pile of clothes, and then pieces of engraved armour were placed on the other side. Finally Impa dropped the bag behind her and sat looking at him.

"Are you ready?" she asked again, watching him carefully.

He removed one hand from his harp to reach across and touch the large Sheikah eye. Tracing the pattern with his fingers he evaluated the defensive capabilities of the outfit and came to a surprised conclusion.

"Are all guardians chosen for speed and flexibility then?" he glanced at Impa, confused.

She smiled, "No, I am more strength-based. The Three provide for their guardians extensively." The mysterious tone to her voice told him he wasn't going to learn more than that, and he fought down the curiosity that had risen at her words.

He nodded once and withdrew his hand, straightening his back as he felt resolution solidify inside him.

"I am ready," he said, and Impa bowed her head solemnly.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Sahib watched amusedly as the grey poe swung around the desert dunes in the distance, the sounds of laughter reaching him faintly on the slightly breeze that took the edge off the desert heat. He stood straight and tall on the top level of the outpost, looking out across the great expanse of sand that lay in every direction. Below he could hear the sounds of Impa packing her things away as he took his last few moments to say goodbye to the only land he'd ever really known.

The clothes he wore were beginning to feel like a second skin now. He never spent a day without them on. The bandages would need replacing fairly regularly but the clothes were designed to be sturdy and resistant to the daily wear and tear, and had proven easy to wash in the cool water of the well behind the building. His armour consisted of just greaves and arm braces, while various clever pockets in his shirt and trousers concealed stilettos and long fine needles that could be easily coated in poison. His harp was strapped to his back, quietly content at being close to him. He smiled happily, pulling his scarf back up around his face to cover his mouth. The only part of his face that could be seen were his red eyes and the fall of his bangs, the rest of his hair tied back under the tight head-wrap. Impa had taught him that unless he failed to protect the royal family, he would never cut his hair again. He'd been amused by the way she'd pulled her own lengthy plait forwards, stroking it proudly as she grinned at him.

"I have never failed," she told him, pride ringing in her voice.

He sighed and turned to walk down the stairs, sadness rising up in him as he realised that he would soon be leaving the desert, potentially to never return again. It seemed an unfair exchange; leaving everything you'd ever known to live in eternal servitude, bowing to those who would own every aspect of his life from now on. Never again would he be able to just leave whenever he wished. Instead he would have to earn even a few minute of free time, during which the royal family could still demand his return at any moment.

Yes, it seemed more than a little unfair.

He paced down and through the trapdoor, finding Impa pouring water over the coals of the fire, emptying most of the waterskin over them before she was satisfied. With that she picked up her bags and handed one back to him, apparently having noticed him coming in even though he'd thought he was completely silent.

Sahib grumbled as he took the bag, ignoring her snigger as he slung it over his shoulder, carefully avoiding his harp. Moving away he walked outside again, this time passing the stairs leading up another level and exiting out into the actual desert itself. He stretched his body slowly, enjoying the lack of strain and aches that had plagued him for two days after he'd woken up from his deep healing sleep. It had amazed him how quickly he'd recovered, with the help of several doses of the red potion, of which only a very small amount in the bottom of the bottle remained. It worried him a little, what with the trip back to the castle still ahead of them, even though he'd never relied on it before. Whenever he'd mentioned it to Impa she had simply smiled secretively and changed the topic, refusing to answer no matter how many tiems he asked. Quickly he'd realised he wasn't going to find anything out from questioning her, and he'd chosen to let it rest rather than pursuing it doggedly.

Impa moved silently up beside him, gazing into the distance with him for a few moments, before speaking. "Time to go, young Sheikah, no point in lingering longer than we need to."

He turned to her, shifting the bag until it was slightly more comfortable. His voice came out muffled but audible, "I am ready."

She nodded, and he waited for her to start moving. Instead, she simply pulled her own harp from her back and stood before him.

Sahib glanced at the harp curiously. It was far older than his, he noticed, worn with frequent usage. Even with the marks of the years upon it he could tell it had been well-loved and cared for; the wood still gleamed with polish and the gold leaf and gemstones still shone, even though patches of the gold leaf were missing. The strings were fine and delicate, without a single strand out of place.

Nothing really seemed to explain why she'd taken it out instead of heading onwards though.

Impa snorted at him, then gestured with her harp. "Are you not going to get your own out then?"

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he supposed he'd better obey. With a curious furrow to his brow he reached behind him and pulled open the sheath that held his own harp, carefully grasping the instrument and taking it out. Impa grinned at him then settled her harp into the crook of her arm, placing her fingers on the strings.

"Watch my fingers and follow them," she told him, waiting until he'd positioned his own harp and then playing the first note. He copied her exactly, plucking the same strings and enjoying the soft melody they formed. On his first play through, the harp held a listening air, the magic silent inside it as it learned the song he played. The second was played faster, the simple tune quickly memorised as he closed his eyes to feel the thrum of the music.

Suddenly the harp sang, the magic whirling out around him, coiling through the air and simmering under his skin. He gasped as a feeling of weightlessness flooded his body, fingers somehow still playing even as the rest of his muscles froze in panic. He couldn't even open his eyes as the magic sung of ancient power and the flow of time, lilting as it tenderly caressed the voices of heroes and queens and felt the strength of their spirits and gloried in their radiance and beauty. Tears came to his eyes as the magic whispered to him about standing proudly forever, watching as histories and lives unfolded around it and passed into the dark.

The magic released him almost reluctantly, soothing across his face and hands as it slipped back into the harp, leaving him wavering as he tried to regain his bearings. His fingers fell from the strings, eyes still closed as he savoured the last few moments of the song, then reluctantly opened his eyes, a question on his lips.

It was quickly lost in the shock. Instead of the heat of the desert and the starkness of sunlight against the sand, white walls surrounded them on all sides. They stood on a round platform, the symbol of the Triforce brightly emblazoned on its surface. Across the other side of the large hall two massive doors stood closed, the royal crest of arms spread across them, almost oppressive in how large it was. An altar stood before the doors, a blue instrument sat on top of it.

Sahib just gaped at it all, eyes wide and mouth open (he was glad the scarf hid his mouth when he realised later how silly he must have looked). Impa laughed loudly at the shocked expression on his face, and he stared at her incredulously.

"What, by the Three themselves, just happened?" he gasped, dropping to rest on his haunches as he tentatively touched the floor, not quite sure whether to believe it or not.

"That," Impa slowly managed to supress her laughter and return to her poised composure. "That, is what is known as a warp song. That particular one will always lead you here, but there are many others that will take you all over the world."

He gazed up at her, then cautiously rose to stand properly, a soft flush on his cheeks as he realised just how childish he must have looked. "And where exactly is here?" He asked, returning his harp to its place on his spine in an attempt to appear calm and collected.

Impa grinned at him. "I am glad you asked." She turned around and moved to stand in front of the altar, arms spread wide as she whirled to face him again.

"This," she intoned, a deep anticipation running through the air and making Sahib straighten his back further. "Is the Temple of Time."

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Fourth chapter! And well over four thousand words! Woohoo! Next chapter we're going to meet some familiar faces and some things will change for Sahib. Hope you enjoyed!


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